


flying through a thousand colours (for you’re always radiant when i love you)

by allrisenim



Category: Super Junior
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Fluff, Romance, cute gorls in love, it's always sunny in my fics, very frustrating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 09:17:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18221198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allrisenim/pseuds/allrisenim
Summary: Hyukjae loves Siwon in miles of sun





	flying through a thousand colours (for you’re always radiant when i love you)

**Author's Note:**

> gorlfriends.... gorlfriends.... also im sorry this is so short and if it feels like things move 2quickly, its bc they do. hha. thank u mila for the encouragement <3

A weekday sun rises in a slow waltz, sweeps Sunday into something less than a bathetic refraction, finger-in-the-ripple, reaches just under the fidgeting eye. The blonde stirs, yawning softly against her crimped cotton pillow, one arm beginning its lackadaisical pull for a faulty alarm clock. _Six forty-five_. _Perfect._ She smiles, flumping back, recumbent against the protest of her bed springs. Seventeen breathes into flushing cheeks—one sanguine freckle short of rosacea—bright orbs, almost prismatic in the grip of heat. The natural state of her hair is to fall in loose curls, framing her small, blushed face; much to the jealousy of many of the girls at school. And some of the boys.

 

Exhaustion wears out its ten minute welcome before sleep eludes her finally, and one restless toss to the left turns her face first toward a pulsating jolt of light, falling from an open window. Part of her curses yesterday’s self for forgetting to draw the curtains, and now for the perspiration that had begun to gather under her arms, a lilac night frock riding up the babyish curve of her thigh. Not that it mattered too much; the better part of the morning would be spent out-of-bed anyway. She wobbles onto two feet, still drowsy under the matitudinal purl of sun, then loosening the purple fabric, lets the dress collapse into folds on the floor. Tiredly she inspects her naked figure in the mirror, one listless finger finding affinity for the dimple just above her hip, just where a small, weird touch had found a place to land the Friday before. The girl turns ruddy at the thought, her heart chiming in swift palpitations, as it does regularly, for a particularly _someone_. A someone whose benign gestures could only be measured, as she had decided many mornings ago, in inches of colour and feelings of ineffable quality.

 

 _Seven thirty_ arrives with a slapdash cyan across the sky, a routine doorbell peal, and suddenly Monday mornings become something of an immortal affair. She shows as always, in pigtails secured with large pink bows and standard, navy-coloured school uniform. The dark blue skirt was to be, in accordance to the school rules, of a modest length, though her own crisp pleats had never reached anywhere further than a few cheeky centimetres from the knee. Fitted over is a long-sleeved blouse, a sailor-style collar gracing the neckline and tapering into a dainty white tie-up bow sitting just between the bosom. Fiddling with the knot one last time, she makes haste from the boudoir, and down the stairs, almost tripping over the last step mid-skip.

 

“Hyukjae, sweetie,” a voice comes, maternally. The woman’s eyes turn to creases at the sight of the pretty thing—but without anguish—and finds the same feature concomitantly replicated on her daughter’s face. “Your _friend_ is outside already.”

 

“Mom,” the girl deadpans, duly aware of the insinuation.

 

“You’re always late.”

 

“She’s always early.”

 

“Then you should work on that,” The older woman teases, “Think of the lovely lady and—

 

“—Here.”

 

A lunchbox is thrusted into open hands, and Hyukjae affords a smile; just long enough for the woman to admire her daughter, arrested under a quivering ray, her pigtails lopsided (though charming, in her own way), before she turns heels once more. “Love you!” replaces the affectionate “Goodbye!” at the door, and so begins the routinely tryst; privy only to those loving eyes as she watches the little woman join hands with her missus.

 

-

 

A second doorbell peal is halted in the frenzy of blonde hair, emerging from behind the wood, joined congruently by a well-mannered morning greeting. Hyukjae sports her regular flush, pulling at her locks in nervous habit.

 

Choi Siwon was by no means a brutish girl, though at first sight, it was not uncommon for ignorance to have adjudicated that inference. The honey-hued ripples of muscle under her plaid green skirt did most of the telling, and where they hadn’t Hyukjae had discovered, sooner or later, that the former was a striker on the school’s women’s soccer team. Strangely enough, it was something that the younger blonde had developed an awful partiality for, and week after week she had found herself sneaking into the bleachers when practice was in session, searching for that heat-dappled body. Eventually of course they had met, on a day much hotter than this; when the players had rushed into the bleachers in thirst—and the boxy sweetheart was amongst them.

 

And there they were, aligned once more under a torrid swoon of gold. Hyukjae gazes at the taller girl fondly, sickened with love and the bout of dyspepsia that threatens to rise. The girl stands an admirable five foot six before her, blotting out a sun that comes in droves, as a thoughtful measure. Southbound eyes settle on Siwon’s striped tie (a quiet indication of her place on the prefectorial board, as with the green skirt), faintly recalling when she helped the senior girl with photocopying flyers for her presidential campaign. It had been almost half a year since then.

 

“Ready?” Siwon asks, then peering down to see a timorous hand slipped into hers. The blonde’s heart starts its wonted throb, crenating into a something as friable as the side of the skirt crushed under her loose, fidgeting hand.

 

-

 

The journey to school is a linden-lined, fifteen minutes of asphalt unfurling ahead of Siwon’s bicycle. The blonde sits hoisted on the handlebars, lunch box nestled in her lap, back turned toward from the purling shine. She admires  the older girl against the perennial blurs of green as she begins her labour of love; from her thick, shapely brows to the way her face pulls into dimples as shifty eyes meet hers under the early morning glare.

 

“Sleep well last night?”

 

“Better than ever.”

 

 _Dreaming of you_ , she wants to add, grateful still, however, for the fact that reality never swayed too far from those sweet, evanescent dreams. Her mind falls into a bit of a cloud of its own, memories of hands, dollar-store nail stickers, stealing up to Siwon’s roof with their mothers’ liquor. She had been wearing that same lilac bed frock—her hair fastened in milkmaid braids, save for the platinum tresses that trickled by her ears. She remembers this now only because she had thought herself to look rather pleasant that night, and for good reason. It had been their first, informal date, and though she had been quite the jaunty, sloppy child before her soccer starlet Siwon had paid no mind; not even when she rambled on in stutters about her old pup, or the weird bread shop down the street. Winter had dissolved the sky into a languorous attire of stars, and the chill had annealed them so they were skin-to-skin, much to her merriment. Hyukjae likes to think that if she had been a little bolder, or perhaps if she had gone for another drink, it would have brought them somewhere closer to a kiss but alas—that never did happen.

 

Siwon had always been _too_ polite to ask the difficult questions. It’s the only thing of hers Hyukjae finds herself disgruntled with.

 

“Has anyone asked you out for the Valentines Ball?” Siwon changes the subject, “It’s only a little over a week away.”

 

“Too many times, ah—not that I’m interested in any one them!” The correction tumbles out in a burning frenzy, as fear displaces itself into the mouth, hoping Siwon would get the hint. “The boys, I mean.”

 

“Tsk, you’re a heartbreaker all around!”

 

“I’m only honest,” Hyukjae beams, “Ah, but there’s this one boy who’s been particularly persistent.”

 

“How so?” Siwon’s brow lifts, in a manner Hyukjae would indulgently presume to be jealousy.

 

“It’s annoying really, but every morning when I open my locker there’s a raspberry lolly sitting there. Every. Morning. Without fail.”

 

“You reckon he slipped it in or…?”

 

“Or he knows my code, which is the scary part.”

 

“He must really like you then, this secret admirer! I’m surprised you haven’t told me this earlier.”

 

“I really don’t have eyes for him,” Hyukjae manages, and then sotto voce, under her breath: _how could I, when they’re on you._

 

“This is too interesting,” Siwon pants, rounding the corner to their school. “My guess is on Donghae.”

 

“No way! He’s too obtuse for delicacies like these.”

 

“It’s just candy,” Siwon laughs, “Besides, romantic gestures are his thing.”

 

“There’s something else…” Hyukjae explains, her brows furrowing in recollection, “They’re from a proper shop, like they look expensive—i’ve kept an eye out for them in all the local marts and I’ve never seen them around.”

 

“Keeping an eye out… looks like you’re pretty invested in—”

 

“—am not!—”

 

“—him, but if I had to hazard a second guess, it might be from the confectionary on sixth street.”

 

“The fancy one.”

 

“The fancy one.” Siwon tilts her chin toward the pelting gold and a body of blush, “You’re lucky you’re so beautiful.”

 

-

 

The sentimental doesn’t settle all day, and how Hyukjae had managed to contain herself as she dismounted the bicycle finally was beyond her. Regardless, there had been a lolly in her locker, as there had been, every morning, without fail.

 

-

 

The friday following ends prematurely, in part owed to her own surreptitious manoeuvring. It had been her intention, this: sneaking out of the last class to meet Siwon at the field, but apparently the latter had plans of her own. The blonde sighs, hauling herself and her lumbering spirit down the tree-lined street. Dusk was coming in now, sequestered in the lindens, gleaming like yolks in their foliage; and yet, it was damningly bereft of whatever magic Siwon and her two-wheels had to offer.

 

Any other person, under any other circumstance, might have turned her into a girl possessed by temper, pliant in the face of anger but not with Siwon, never Siwon— _how could she_. Instead, Hyukjae lets her mind wander to the conversation they had had on wednesday morning; when Siwon had asked if it was okay to think herself un-beautiful.

 

_That’s absurd!_

 

_Is it really_

 

_You’re the most beautiful to me. Beautifulest._

 

_And you think love will come around for me?_

 

“All you have to do is _ask_ ,” Hyukjae mutters to herself. “And quickly.”       

 

As the last torrent of ochre pales away, however, the blonde is abetted by a different kind of curiosity. She takes a left on sixth street, for where a candy-striped sweet shop stands half-eluded under a guttering shine. Hyukjae feels for the lolly in her pocket, only to be greeted by the same waft of raspberry, supplemented by the customary ding of the entrance bell and suddenly—suddenly, everything begins to move slower.

 

The setting sun stalls for the figure slotted between the large windowsill, eyes turned away until Hyukjae unnerves herself to call her name,

 

“Siwon?”

 

The same honey-hued shoulders. That same infinite smile, that seemed to say, _you caught me_ , with an inch of guilt and an acre of affection.

 

 _And to think you had asked me before, if I thought you beautiful_ —

 

Clutched in her hands, by her green skirt, five raspberry lollies for the week ahead.

 

— _why, you’re always radiant when I love you._


End file.
